Who, boy. He's at it again, guys. Coming out with another crazy Celtigar chapter, a week and a half later than planned. What will this lunatic think of next?
It's crabbin time.
Claw Isle - 101 AC
The sole ship of the Dondarrion fleet sailed into Claw's lagoon, silent and slow. Purple lightning bolts forked across its sails, and ant-sized men moved to prepare a landing.
Gael walked arm-in-arm with her husband to greet their guests, just as she had done for all the others. Malden was considerably more excited than she, nervous energy coiling just beneath the surface of his skin. He hadn't seen his foster family in many years, and Gale knew he had been long anticipating their re-acquaintance.
Their newborn son and now the heir to Claw Isle gurgled happily in Gael's arms, a wooden dragon gripped resolutely in his hands. Maekor Celtigar was a strong baby, thick and hairy, and it had taken a while for her to get used to carrying him.
"The Dondarrions are the last to arrive," she mentioned, hoping to focus her husband on the upcoming event. "From two days prior we have the Rootes and the Darrys, oh, and Jonah's father came from Wickenden a week ago. All our vassals are here, and Edmund stands on behalf of the Florents. Will that be enough?"
Malden pondered for a second before responding. "Enough to win the realm? No. Rhaenys and her Velaryon husband have allies up and down the Narrow Sea, as well as the Baratheon favor. Viserys has an Arryn wife and a Royce goodsister - locking down much of the Vale. Not to mention they both have dragons."
Their boots clicked as they descended another flight of stairs, nearing the base. "But what of the other great lords? Lannister and Tyrell, Tully and Stark, many were friends to my mother."
"The late Queen," and how it shocked how much that punched in her gut, "Made a great many allies in her term, many of which still think favorably of her. But one must remember that while you are her daughter, Viserys and Daemon are her grandsons, Laenor her great-grandson. Any favor the lords have from her won't pass to you and our children alone."
Gael sighed. "You're right. Then who do we support?"
"Who the majority decides. It's the only way to avoid - or at least minimize - bloodshed."
The pair left the shelter of Claw and marched onto the docks, surrounded by a throng of activity. House Celtigar's wealth and trading empire had only grown in the past two years since Gael's marriage, and while Malden claimed it was because of her influence, she was skeptical. Whatever the case, the Celtigars were more powerful than ever. For the first time, she wasn't simply the timid winter princess.
Water sprayed as the Dondarrion anchor dropped into the surf, the warship coming to a rest beside a large dock. Ropes were thrown to the waiting attendants, who looped them into hooks inlaid in the wood.
A precocious boy was the first to disembark, racing down the gangplank ahead of his aging father. He looked to be only a few years older than her Aethan, perhaps four or five namedays.
"Slow down, Arlan!" wheezed the Lord of Blackhaven. Old man Beric - as Malden liked to call him in private - hobbled after the boy. Arlan turned mid-run to grin at his father, only to lose his balance and tip into the bay. A splash cut off his yelp of surprise.
Laughing, Malden dove beneath the waves, resurfacing moments later with a thoroughly miserable child that only somewhat resembled the heir of House Dondarrion. He was heaved up onto the docks, with Malden following behind him.
Beric gasped as he finally caught up. "My apologies, Malden… for my son's behavior and… and doubly so for ruining your tunic."
Gael smiled politely as Malden waved the matter away. "Welcome to Claw Isle, Lord Dondarrion. I trust your trip was a pleasant one?"
A grim-faced marcher knight walked up behind his lord, an orange sigil adorned with ten black pellets on his shoulders. "No voyage through Shipbreaker Bay could ever be called pleasant, Princess. But it was as tame as could be hoped."
"Allow me to introduce Ser Devon Cole… my steward," Beric spluttered. "He is a dutiful man, one that you'll find quite trustworthy."
"Yes, I've met Ser Devon before," Malden said as he helped Arlan to his feet, Gael watching behind him. "Now, shall we?"
It took some time for the Dondarrions to make their way up Claw's many, many stairs. Both Beric's advanced age and Arlan's lack of said age made it a difficult journey, with Malden's energetic conversation not helping to hurry them along. Would their other guests be irritated? Gael wasn't sure, but none of her company seemed to be concerned.
Claw's war room was not nearly as ornate as that of High Tide or Dragonstone, from Gael's scant recollection, but it was functional, and entirely impossible to spy upon. The hollow chamber was dug deep beneath the castle proper and had three thick stone doors along the access stairwell. It made for quite the ominous atmosphere but also ensured that any ears wishing to listen in would be unsuccessful.
As Lord and Lady of Claw Isle, Gael and Malden were the first to enter the hall, followed by Beric and the other lords. Edmund Florent, Malden's friend from childhood. Rosamund Staunton, just as young as Gael and already the sole Lady of Rook's Rest. Even Jonah Waxley was a part, looking proud to stand alongside so many dignified men. There were more. Desmond Darry, Roote, Crabb, Brune, Byrch - Gael couldn't remember the rest - but she resolved to learn.
Aethan, Maekor, and Arlan were left in the care of Tyrella, a flush-faced maid who adored spending time with them. She was always fun, although Gael sometimes worried about how careful she was. Aethan was but two, and Maekor a babe. Tyrella's antics may have been fun, but Gael had doubts about their safety - even if they were in the protected nursery.
The lords and ladies took their seats in the carved stone chairs, sipping lightly on the assorted wines that had been left out. Celtigar and Targaryen wealth was on display in the selection, including Arbor Gold, Beesbury Mead, White Knife Iced Wine, and more. Tapestries of the highest quality adorned the hewn stone walls, and Myrish rugs made comfort out of harsh floor.
Malden initiated a round of introductions, with each lord ringing out their name and accomplishments. After that, the council convened.
"Begging your pardons, my lord, princess," began Jonah, having requested to speak, "but will Gael and her children's claims even be considered? They aren't dragonriders, and Aethan's a bastard."
Hurt blasted Gael from the casual dismissal of her firstborn. On a day-to-day basis on Claw, both she and Malden forgot that oft forgot he wasn't the father, considering Malden's constant presence since Aethan's birth. Her mind had simply locked that fact away, and now it was coming to the fore.
Malden spoke while she reeled, his hand holding her under the table. "Good question, Jonah. Cousin, care to take this?"
Desmond Darry hopped to his feet. "Certainly. According to my sources at Harrenhal, the maesters mean to consider all of those who come from the Targaryen line, no matter what condition the claimant is in. This means the Velaryons, Saera and her bastards, and any other individual with a hint of royal blood will all be eligible."
"Which means our potential claim is just as great as any other," said Gael, finally out of her stupor. She set her fingers along the side of the table, drumming out a childhood rhythm. "But the real question is how much support any claim we could make would receive, especially when compared to Viserys and Rhaenys."
A map of the Seven Kingdoms was spread out across the table, ornately designed and laden with many a house sigil. There were nearly a thousand all said and done, stretching from the southern tip at Sunhouse to Last Hearth near the Wall. Some empty glasses were placed on the edges to keep it from curling, and Maester Gyles placed a tray of agate, onyx, and lapis markers on one side.
Malden began with the lapis, lining the eastern coast and much of the Stormlands. "Corlys Velaryon's trade empire means votes from most Narrow Sea lords, and Rhaenys is half-Baratheon, so she'll have the Stormlands as well."
"Not all of it!" declared Beric indignantly, waving Jonah to place agate stones across the Dondarrion holdings. The youth did as he was asked, and much of the marches became a field of red. The heir of Wickenden marked his family lands as well, dotting the southern coast of the Vale.
Through cooperative effort and accumulated informants, lapis was painted across the North, Stormlands, and the Narrow Sea, while onyx enjoyed dominance over the Vale, the Westerlands, and the Reach. Scarce among them were Gael's markers, those who would support her claim over anyone else's. A patch in the Riverlands, the Reach, the Stormlands, the Vale, Crackclaw Point. One in ten, maybe less.
"There's so few," she murmured. Her husband's hand slipped into hers.
Slumping, the assorted lords gazed at the board, coming to the same conclusion as she.
Edmund ran a hand through the red tufts of his beard. "I suppose it comes down to where we throw our support, then. If our respective sources are correct, and I assume they are, then there is no point in pushing for Gael, whether she is most suited for the task or not."
"Or not?" Malden repeated. "The late Queen specifically requested for us to safeguard the realm. What better way to do that than with Gael and our children on the throne?"
A shuddering breath released itself from Gael's lungs. "Thank you, husband. But as Edmund said, my worthiness of the throne is irrelevant now." She gave Malden a weak smile. "The only viable options are Viserys or Rhaenys."
"Blacks or Blues," mourned Lady Rosamund.
A gust of air blew in from one of the many air shafts, briefly buffeting the chamber. Lord Byrch shivered, and Desmond Darry smoothed out his locks. "Each of whom brings their own demons alongside," he added." Rhaenys' husband is Corlys Velaryon, the most ambitious man this century. The Sea Snake would bankrupt the realm if it helped House Velaryon. And there's obviously Daemon Targaryen. He has and would continue to cause no end of grief for the realm."
Gael was stiff as she stood. "My lords, my lady, please excuse me. I want to check on my children."
"I'll come with you, princess." Beric lurched up from his seat. "My Arlan may be wanting my presence."
She brandished her elbow and the old lord accepted, tottering over to loop his arm with hers. Together, they ascended the staircase out of Claw's annals and made their way over to the nursery.
"All you all right, princess?" Beric asked, in a low voice. "You look like my wife on her wedding day."
She gave him a look, and he blanched. "She is twenty years my junior, I'm afraid. Ours was not a marriage of love."
They walked in silence for a minute. "To answer your question, no, I'm not alright. My family is preparing to war with itself, and I'm failing everything my mother asked of me. She wanted us to protect the realm, to prevent chaos and destruction and war."
Beric hummed. "Your mother was a wonderful woman, and was responsible for much good."
"And?"
"And, ah, to my understanding, she often took on much more than expected. The whole First Night business, her women's courts, even the old king's rage. Begging your pardon of course." Two guards saluted as they passed the archway that denoted the nursery, their rust-red pauldrons spearing up in the shape of crab pincers. "You mustn't expect yourself to perform so admirably, not at first. It took her years - decades - of effort and training to achieve such feats - something you've only just begun."
Gale gave the first truthful smile in what seemed like days. "Thank you, Lord Dondarrion. Your sage advice is appreciated."
"Bah! Call me Beric, child, and spare my sensibilities. I despise feeling old."
She laughed, and he smiled ruefully. That same smile died a violent death on his face when they came upon the nursery proper, which was empty save for a dozing nursemaid, Tyrella, and a crying Maekor in his cradle.
"Where is Aethan?" Gael demanded shrilly, rousing Tyrella from her rest. The young woman paled, immediately spluttering out meaningless apologies, excuses explaining her slumber. They didn't matter. Her son was gone.
A screech echoed through the nursery, reptilian in its nature. It sounded as if it came from a great beast, and there was only one such creature on the entirety of Claw Isle.
Silverwing.
With a speed Gael had never before experienced, she was racing up the steps, speeding through the labyrinthine corridors of the castle on her way to the source of that sound. Beric called out to her, but she paid him no heed.
Celtigar guards followed her as she passed them, but they too failed to keep pace and fell behind. "Aethan is missing!" she screeched back at them, and the two exchanged panicked glances.
The fighting yard that served as a makeshift Dragonpit was silent as the grave, save for the soft murmurs and trills coming from her mother's beast. Silverwing's shining snout gave the softest of nuzzles to her rider, the two-year-old laughing at the unfamiliar texture. Arlan Dondarrion watched from the side, slumped and leaning against a dirty column.
Puffing his way from behind her, Beric came to a stop. "Well," he laughed, "At least you don't have to worry about claiming her anymore."
Silverwing, one of the greatest dragons in all Westeros and perhaps the world, was now in the hands of a boy barely out of his swaddling clothes. Caraxes, Seasmoke, Meyleys - they were all dwarfed by the newest dragon and her rider. The very same boy who was currently giggling and waving at the smoke plumes puffed out of Silverwing's nostrils.
She didn't think this was what her mother had intended.
You thought it would be Gael who was going to claim Silverwing? Maybe even Malden, in some bizarre twist of fate? WELL. Jokes on you.
I GAVE THE TODDLER A DRAGON.
Also, given that this is the internet and there are always dissenters, yes, Silverwing IS one of the greatest dragons of the realm. She was born between 36 and 42 AC, meaning the only ones older/larger than her at this point in time are Vhagar, Dreamfyre, and Vermithor. Cannibal and Sheepstealer are possible contenders, but we have no evidence as to their ages.
Also, The Wind Our Steed should come out later today, or, failing that, Saturday.
As always, follow, favorite, and review as you see fit. Good night.